


fight

by logsted



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Death, Gen, Ghosts, Head Injury, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Physical Abuse, descriptions of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:29:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29789202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/logsted/pseuds/logsted
Summary: Tommy never stopped fighting, ever since the start, and until the end.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 131





	fight

**Author's Note:**

> ANYWAYS HOW ARE WE FEELING ABOUT THE STREAM TONIGHT BOYS.
> 
> heres a little short oneshot I wrote to uh.. yeah just kinda cope with what happened. I wish Tommy couldve gotten a better ending, instead of fighting his entire life just to loose at the hands of his abuser.

Tommy wouldn’t stop fighting.

He’d never given up. He’d tried his hardest to never give up. He’d lived through the L’manberg wars, through the election and through being thrown out into Pogtopia. He’d lived through ups and downs, he’d been stubborn and kept up the fight time and time again, even when everyone else had given up.

He’d lived through exile, just barely. He’d stared down at the lava, he’d said ‘It’s never my time to die.’ He’d survived through day and day again, he’d fought on through the rain pouring down on his skin, through the explosions and the deep cuts of an axe through his skin. He’d fought on through tears, eating his cake alone with Dream’s hand on his shoulder.

He’d almost given up during exile. Tommy had contemplated it, he’d prepared for it. He’d watched as Dream blew up Logstedshire, his voice cutting through the air, screaming at him. He’d pillared up to the sky, the clouds brushing past his skin, high above the ground and watching the night turn into day.

Tommy had never given up. He’d jumped off the tower, into the cold water below. He’d turned away from Logstedshire, running through the plains until he hit snow, until he’d found Technoblade’s cabin. He’d survived, he’d broken away from the strings Dream was holding over him. 

He always kept fighting. He fought for L’manberg every single time, and he’d kept fighting every single time it died. He fought for himself once L’manberg was reduced to nothing but a pit to bedrock. He’d fought to keep himself happy, to reach small achievements and have fun like he used to, help himself heal and go back to how things were before.

Tommy had fought for his discs, side by side with Tubbo. He didn’t give up, even when Dream said they were fake. Even when his stuff was thrown into a pit and blown to ashes. Even when Dream held an axe to Tubbo’s neck, threatening to cut in.

Dream told him to say goodbye. His last goodbye, to Tubbo. Even then, he fought. This wasn’t going to be his last goodbye to Tubbo! Tubbo wasn’t going to die-- He wasn’t going to just  _ let  _ Tubbo die! He would just keep arguing, just keep swearing and fighting against Dream, even when Tubbo went quiet and dropped his head down.

There had to be some other way out, some way for them to run to the portal before Dream could get to them. Some way for both him and Tubbo to leave alive-- He couldn’t let Tubbo die, he wouldn’t stop fighting that easily!

“It’s alright… We had some laughs.” Tubbo’s defeated voice cut through his thoughts. He placed a gentle hand on Tommy’s shoulder, giving him a weak smile. “It was fun. While it lasted, but…”

“No- No you can’t just  _ accept  _ it!” Tommy stumbled to speak, holding back the urge to cry. Tubbo couldn’t just stop fighting this quickly, he couldn’t just  _ give up _ ! This couldn’t be it for them, he couldn’t just give up the fight when both of them had spent their whole lives fighting Dream. 

Tubbo told him. There was no way out. No way down, their lift up had just been triggered as they even  _ glanced _ at it in thought, no way through the walls, no way to get to the portal quick enough. As Tubbo put it, there was no escape, no way to fight… He’d just given up, just like that.

“It’s over. We had some laughs, it was fun. Y’know, all good things must come to an end eventually.”

Tommy’s tears finally fell. This couldn’t be it. Tubbo was giving up, just like that. He was so sure they would’ve won-- They were so optimistic about it at the start! And now they were here. Saying their goodbyes. Tubbo had given up completely-- And suggested Tommy do the same.

If it hadn’t been for the fact that Tommy prepared for the worst, they would’ve given up. Tommy was seconds from giving up, when footsteps brought him out of it, and several figures walked out of the portal, armour on and weapons at the ready. He’d been saved--  _ They’d _ been saved.

And he’d fought so hard for this good ending, hadn’t he?

Tommy had fought, and won. Dream was in prison. He was building his hotel, finally feeling safe enough to unwind and have fun just like the old days. He could go anywhere, he could do anything, and he’d be safe. Dream couldn’t do shit to stop him, almost nobody could at this point.

Even visiting Dream, he’d felt victorious. Dream was locked up in the prison, no hope of escaping, getting karma for the months, even years of torment he’d put Tommy through. He’d put the  _ entire server _ through. Dream could try and fight against Tommy here, but it didn’t matter. Tommy had won.

Until the explosions went off.

Until Tommy was yelling, screaming for help, an exit, anything. Screaming for Sam to come help him, for Phil to come help him, to no answer. Waiting through every day, without sleeping, without resting, and only rarely eating.

Tommy had to fight again. He brought himself back into the familiar mindset of staying stubborn, always yelling, always fighting, never letting himself give up. With every single day that passed, he fought, he screamed at Dream for all he had done, he tried to find some way-- Any way-- To get out and escape. He never let himself have a second to rest, he couldn’t put his guard down.

By the seventh day, he was tired. He’d been fighting relentlessly. His throat hurt from almost constantly yelling. His eyes hurt from crying. His whole body hurt from trembling, from punching the walls or Dream himself when he was angry, or from being just a little bit too close to the lava. 

Surely that was it, he just barely saw Sam, yelling out to him for help. That surely it was time for him to leave, it had felt like nineteen days stuck in the prison cell, he could surely go free and go home and feel safe again, and not have to wear himself out by being in the constant state of fighting.

But that wasn’t it. Sam didn’t drop down the lava, he told him he’d be staying there for a little while longer, there was nothing he could do. Despite how much Tommy yelled and begged, he’d still be stuck there no matter what he tried. 

Tommy didn’t stop fighting. 

If anything, the anger-- The betrayal of being stuck here for  _ longer _ \-- Only fueled his fire. Tommy screamed until his voice was hoarse, and even then he didn’t stop. Tears streamed down his face as he yelled and shouted at Dream, raising his hand and punching him, again and again. Dream fought back, but not with the same fire Tommy did.

They argued, back and forth, Tommy’s voice never losing its fire, although it broke and cracked. His voice overpowered Dream’s, even when Dream tried to yell as loud as he could. Tommy didn’t stop. He didn’t stop fighting, his voice raised and his hits got harder, although it still didn’t phase Dream.

But Dream started to fight back. It started with one hit, after another, their screaming match going from only words, to physical violence too. Tommy fought past the pain, the bleeding nose he now had, the dizzy feeling in his head, the aching in his bones.

He didn’t stop fighting, even when he was losing. He didn’t stop screaming, he kept trying to hit as hard as he could, punching Dream with all the force in his tired, weak body. He didn’t give up, he  _ couldn’t _ give up.

Tommy kept fighting.

Even when his angry screaming turned into garbled yells of the words ‘no’, ‘wait’, and ‘stop’. Even when he raised his hands only to cover his own face. Even when he tried to curl up into a ball, only focused on protecting himself.

Tommy still kept fighting, this time fighting to stay alive as Dream’s hands grabbed onto his hair, bashing his head against the obsidian floor. He fought to stop his vision from going black, to feel something else other than the overwhelming pain. He fought to keep his voice from going quiet as he screamed, nothing else than just noise, unable to even scream out for Sam, for Phil, for Wilbur.

He kept fighting until a loud crack went through the room, until his body went limp and his mind went blank, and a death message pinged through every communicator on the server.

**TommyInnit was slain by Dream.**

  
  


-

  
  


Tommy fought for something once.

There was something he used to fight for. A possession, a nation, a person, himself. There was a fire in his heart that couldn’t be burnt out, despite how hard many people tried, despite how close it got to burning out.

Now that it was out… Did that mean he won the fight?

The world was white, almost blinding. It felt like a dream, distorted and not real, half awake. He was walking on what felt like air, towards somewhere familiar. Squinting through the light, his vision filled with gold, before a world spilled out in front of him. A bright blue sky, and a land covered in black walls, surrounded by trees and shrubbery.

He heard laughing echoing around him, his own ecstatic words shouting into the void. A guitar, and a soft humming to the melody along. A deep voice saying something comforting, something happy. Laughter and shouting, that all slowly faded into the distance. Tommy grabbed hold of a leaf as it disappeared and vanished in his hands.

“¡Hola, amigo!” A distant voice called, and a figure wrapped his arm around Tommy, although Tommy could barely see it. The figure was wearing mostly green, with a mask of white, red, and green, but when he tried to look at him properly, he was fuzzy and translucent and faded away out of sight. 

“You too, huh, kid?” Another voice called out, a deep one he recognized, but didn’t comfort him. All he could see was a figure in a blue sweater, with horns that set some sort of uneasy feeling in him. The figure turned away, and disappeared out of view just like the others.

The background changed. A house inside a hill that felt like home. A long wooden path, he could remember walking down and calling out to the spirits above. A plains biome with a tent, and a wall of logs. A small cabin in the snow. A row of houses by the water and the docks, with a flag that had been remade many times

“Little brother…” This voice was more real than the others, and a figure appeared in front of him, hugging him tightly. A red sweater. Brown hair that Tommy ran his fingers through when he hugged him back. A feeling of comfort, someone real. “You fought well. I’m proud of you.”

“Wil?” Tommy asked. His voice was hoarse, quiet. The figure pulled away from the hug and smiled at him, and Tommy saw the glimpse of a brown trenchcoat as he faded away into thin air just like everyone else before him had.

Then, it was quiet. The white faded away, back into another scene. A cliff, bordered by a fence. An overgrown bench underneath a tree, with a jukebox sitting just in front of it. It felt wavy, moments from fading away, just like a dream. A world just moments from leaving him, or was he moments from leaving the world?

Tommy sat down on the oak bench, the stress he didn’t know he was feeling leaving him. This was his home. This was where he was meant to stay. He could almost hear music, but there were no discs in the jukebox, and the world was quiet, and he was a part of it. Fading into the background.

Voices mumbled past, footsteps on the wooden path behind him. Light laughter, Tubbo’s voice singing, Ranboo’s voice talking. Tommy smiled, and a water bubbled up in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. Their voices faded and came back every so often, phasing past him.

He was so glad that Tubbo had Ranboo now. At least without him, he wouldn’t be alone. Tubbo would have a best friend, someone to listen to music with, to get primes with, to laugh with. Someone to help him fight when he needed to fight. Tubbo would live, Tubbo could move on with Ranboo at his side, and Tommy was happy for that.

Everybody would be alright without him there. Maybe he had really won against whatever he was fighting. Maybe the fight was over, people would grieve, would mourn, would move on, would forget. 

Nobody would ever have to fight again.

He could finally stop fighting.

A small twirl of smoke drifted up into the starry night sky, drifting above the bench and into the sky. And along with it, his own figure dissipated into nothing, leaving only a bench that would be sat on for the last time, and a jukebox never to be played again.


End file.
